Day 6

 The idea that we would lie in our scratch bags until 9am, have a leisurely breakfast and bimble along to base was not going to make the day happen. Instead we broke camp at 6 am, or rather started to, the midges, fed up at not getting a good meal the night before were the most vicious I have ever known. In full kit, veil and gloves, like a high altitude bee keeper, the little buggers kept coming.

 The essentials in life like a good cuppa tea were miserable efforts with a scum of black on the top from Kamikaze midges mistaking the cups heat for life. Clouds threatened rain and a very despondent group set off along the trail heading back to safety.

 Heres Mrs Bear fending off the biting insects. To get to safety we had to cross a swamp. A proper one. One with great pits of man trapping bog, and those who chose to follow a different path to the one taken by yours truly soon wandered in to difficulty and had to be pulled free. More than once. Eventually the group got the message and fell in single file waiting for there chance to point and laugh at the fast bloke leading the way when it was his turn to step on what looked like safe ground to be swallowed to knee depth by the swamp monsters.

 Finally we made the river and found the right crossing point, a very ropey rope bridge.

 As we headed out of the glenn there were numerous nods to the history of the place, the highland clearances in particular. The mountain we climbed yesterday looms on the right, the peak in the clouds.

 Mrs Bear took a nap while I cooked a quick meal, this tome midge free thanks to the altitude and wind speed.

 So we gained more height

 which for some was pretty tiring

 and after 12 long miles, 7 of them were downhill, we made the watering hole, the most remote pub in the UK where we all had crisps and lashings of ginger beer.

 It has to be said the view from the picnic table was spectacular

 and our taxi awaited so no second helpings. It was at this point the boat broke down. So a frantic search of the village began to find an alternator belt that was 54 inches long and 3/4 inch wide. Naturally the starting point was back at the pub where nearly all the village were gathered around a wicker man. No one had a right sized belt but the captain of The Spanish John who was loading a concrete mixer (this is al true) did have a 1 inch thick 56 inch spare and before you could say oooaaarrr me hearties we were back in action and heading back to base.

 Leaving Invarrie behind

 and from this angle we could see the mountain slap bang in the middle, the pointy bit

 Not that everyone was interested, Mrs Bear got a bit seasick (everso) and threatened to chuck up her cheese and onion walkers.

 Almost home , another peak at our peak

and then we were back on dry land eating a well earned traditional Scottish spaghetti bolognaise. Job done. Adventure over. Well not quite we have one more day at base and then the long journey back so still plenty of time to be tormented by the midges.